


One Moment. Forever.

by DKNC



Series: Would That You Were Mine [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-03
Updated: 2013-12-03
Packaged: 2018-01-03 08:38:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1068382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DKNC/pseuds/DKNC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Catelyn Stark lives by the words of House Tully--Family, Duty, Honor. But surely everyone deserves to live for what they truly want, even if only for one moment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Moment. Forever.

The Lady of Winterfell squeezed the excess water out of her long, auburn hair and lifted it so that the damp length of it hung outside the large tub. Then she sank back down into the warm water up to her neck, resting her head on the edge of the tub. Sighing, she closed her eyes, thinking that she might just stay precisely where she was until her fingers and toes shriveled up. She hadn’t had a lengthy bath in a very long time. Two small children, a husband, and a castle to run tended to interfere with such extravagant pleasures.

Today, however, her lord husband was away in the wolfswood, hunting with his brother, and Old Nan and Septa Mordane had both promised to keep Robb and Sansa well occupied for as long Catelyn desired. No one would disturb her until she called for them. Ordinarily, she would not have accepted their offer, but the simple truth was that Catelyn was tired. She was tired, sad, and completely at a loss as to how to deal with any number of things. Well, one thing in particular, really. The men would likely return within the next couple days, and she would be unable to simply pretend all was well any longer.

Her lord husband was a good man. He took care to see that she had everything she needed. He gave her a free hand in the daily management of Winterfell, asked her opinions on any number of subjects, and truly seemed to listen when she spoke. While she knew perfectly well he bedded other women, it never seemed to lessen his desire for her. He came often enough to her chamber, and while he was always eager to take his own pleasure, he did at least try to make the bedding pleasant for her as well. And he had given her a son and a daughter. For that, she would forever be grateful. He did not bring other women into Winterfell, either. Nor did he did behave dishonorably with any women in her presence, as it was said King Robert did in the presence of his Lannister queen. She was grateful for that as well.

But she did not love him, and he did not love her either. Respect and liking, they certainly shared between them, and they both loved their children fiercely. Once, she thought that might have been enough. Family, Duty, Honor. Love was not mentioned in the words of House Tully, and she had thought herself honorable enough to be content with the many blessings the Seven had chosen to bestow upon her. The war could have taken everything from her, and yet she had lost no one and gained much. What right had she to desire more?

She sighed deeply one last time, and stood up in the tub, letting the water run off her naked body before stepping out. The water had cooled to the point that the air felt just as warm to her now. Her chambers were always warm, even though winter had not yet relinquished its grip outside, and the maid had lit the fire to keep her from chilling as she bathed, so now the room was actually hot.

She smiled as she stepped from the tub, damp and naked, but without any need for her robe, thinking that her poor lord husband would likely melt if he were there now. Brandon had never once spent a full night in her chambers, claiming that the heat was insufferable for longer than an hour or two. When she’d protested that everyone else seemed to find her rooms among the most comfortable in Winterfell, he’d laughed out loud.

“Everyone who isn’t a Stark, you mean, my lady,” he’d told her with that wolfish grin on his face. “Just try and get Ned to set foot in here. His blood’s colder than mine, Cat. He’d likely burst into flames if he remained here for any time at all!”

 _Ned._ The thought of her goodbrother drove the smile from her face. If only she had never known. She had accustomed herself to living with her own secret, burying her shameful feelings deep within and allowing them no opportunity to betray her or harm those that she cared about. But to learn that he . . . She swallowed hard and shivered, although she was not remotely cold. She did reach for her robe and wrapped it around her however, no longer comfortable with her own nakedness as she thought of the last time she had seen Ned before the brothers went hunting with their men.

She also remembered the first time she had seen him well enough. In Riverrun, when he’d brought Brandon back to her, angry but alive. She often wondered what would have happened had Ned not been with Brandon when he heard of Lyanna’s abduction. If Ned had been in the Vale with Jon Arryn and Robert Baratheon instead of riding with Brandon toward Riverrun to attend their wedding, she thought she likely would never have been Lady Stark. Brandon, not surprisingly, had flown into a rage. He and Ned had ridden for King’s Landing, where he’d shouted through the streets for Rhaegar Targaryen to come out and die.

She’d heard the story often enough. Brandon had wanted to ride to the very gates of the Red Keep demanding the head of the Crown Prince. That would have been suicide. When he could not get his older brother to listen to reason, Ned had fought him, knocking him out and hiding the two of them away in an inn, hoping to calm Brandon and petition for an audience with the king. That was not to be, however, for word of Brandon’s wrath had reached Mad Aerys, and a bounty was put out on both brothers. They had to remain hidden or else lose their lives, and it took them nearly two moons to gather covert support and devise a means to escape from Kings Landing. During that time, Rickard Stark, believing them arrested, had ridden to King’s Landing, demanded a trial by combat in defense of his sons, and been burned alive by the mad king.

How Ned had kept Brandon from throwing himself at the walls of the Red Keep after that, Catelyn would never know. After several years of living with him, she knew her impulsive husband well. Both his rage and mirth tended toward excess, and when he was in the grip of either, no one could easily sway him away from it. His brother did influence him more than anyone else, though, Catelyn knew. She had gone to Ned more than once over the years when she needed Brandon to listen to reason. He had never failed to come to her assistance.

In any event, they had escaped King’s Landing together. Jon Arryn and Robert Baratheon had already called their banners and declared war on the Targaryens, and the North had been mobilizing as well, as young Benjen Stark had called the banners for his House. Ned and Brandon had made their way to Riverrun where Brandon had wed her immediately, seeking to secure the support of House Tully.

He had been changed from the man who’d courted her all those years. Gone were the easy grins and wild laughter. He shouted frequently, although not at her, and stalked off for long walks alone or huddled in war councils with her father and other men. He spoke to her hardly at all. At night he came to her and bedded her with the same determined, almost angry energy. He did not hurt her, except for a little bit on that first night, but he seemed to use their bedding as an attempt to exorcise his grief and anger just as he used everything else.

His brother had been quieter. Yet, Catelyn slowly came to realize that he actually spoke to her more than Brandon did. He asked after her welfare and told her that Brandon was hurting badly, and that he knew she was a comfort to him. Catelyn hadn’t been so sure of that, herself, but she did appreciate him saying it. He’d told her that his father’s death had been hard on Brandon and that not knowing anything of their sister’s fate was killing him. As he’d spoken of these things in Riverrun’s godswood, Catelyn realized he was speaking as much of himself as he was of Brandon. This quiet man with his still, solemn face did not rage like his brother, but he felt things just as deeply. She’d simply listened to his halting words and offered stupid, silly platitudes which couldn’t possibly touch his grief. Then when their men arrived from the North, before they’d ridden away, he’d taken her hand, kissed it chastely, and thanked her sincerely for her great kindness to him.

Brandon had pulled her to him and kissed her ardently in front of all the men assembled. Some had whooped, and she had blushed crimson. He had promised to return to her victorious and take her to Winterfell.

They had been victorious, of course. The Stark brothers had fought together throughout the war. They had been with Robert when he defeated Rhaegar on the Trident, and had ridden into King’s Landing after Tywin Lannister’s sack of the city. They had gone together to Storm’s End to break the siege there, and then to some godsforsaken place in Dorne where they had fought the Kingsguard in order to reach their captive sister only to have her die before their eyes. They had returned victorious, but broken in so many ways.

She had presented Brandon with his firstborn son upon his return, and sweet Robb had gone a long way toward healing his father. Their early days in Winterfell had been awkward at times, but not unpleasant. And when she’d conceived Sansa, Brandon’s joy was wild to behold.

Ned had come to Winterfell as well, and he had not come alone. He returned from war with a babe of his own, much to Catelyn’s surprise. He’d introduced the dark haired boy only a little younger than Robb as his natural son, apparently conceived and born during the course of the conflict. Brandon had decreed that Ned and the child whom he called Jon were to stay at Winterfell. Catelyn hadn’t questioned it. It wasn’t her place. So Ned’s bastard had lived nearly all his life up to this point alongside his cousin, the trueborn heir to Winterfell, and the two boys had grown as close as brothers.

It had bothered her once that Robb’s closest companion was a bastard boy whose mother’s name was never mentioned, but Jon Snow was a quiet, unassuming child who never seemed to ask for anything more than he was given, and over the years she’d become accustomed to his presence. She also saw the way the heavy grief that always haunted Ned’s eyes could sometimes be lifted by the boy’s presence, and she couldn’t begrudge her goodbrother that.

As those first couple years passed, and Ned became her dearest friend and closest confidante at Winterfell, she had finally asked him one day about the boy’s mother and had regretted it almost immediately at the pain she saw in his eyes.

“His mother is dead,” he’d said simply. “I am all that he has.”

Catelyn could still remember the way he’d looked at her when she’d laid her hand on his arm and said, “You are enough, Ned. The boy is better cared for and more loved than many in this world.”

“Thank you, my lady,” he’d said softly. “I am learning that men must sometimes learn to accept that whatever they have is enough. Even when that is difficult.”

She hadn’t understood him then. She did now, however. “Even then, Ned?” she whispered softly into the stillness of her room. “As long ago as that?”

A tear slid down her cheek as she thought of that sweet, silent man keeping everything inside him for so many years. He buried away his grief and his anger over what had happened to his sister and father. Where Brandon would sometimes speak of them and of other horrors of war when in his cups, Ned rarely drank much spirits at all and would not release his own hidden sorrows in such a manner. Brandon would also become quite amorous when drinking heavily, embracing and kissing her right at the High Table in the Great Hall to the amused applause of the drunken men. Ned’s eyes had always darkened when he did that, and for a long time, Catelyn believed that to be because he knew how much it embarrassed her. Now she knew it was more than that.

 _The brothers Stark,_ she thought. _I am as bound to both of them as they are to each other._ They were bound to each other closely. Ned had been raised largely at the Eyrie, fostered by Lord Jon Arryn, and as he grew up, Catelyn believed he’d considered Robert Baratheon more a brother to him than either Brandon or Benjen. But whatever else Robert’s Rebellion had done to her lord husband and his solemn brother, it had brought them together as nothing else ever had, and the closeness between them now was stronger than their similarities or their differences. The only possible source of discord between them was Catelyn herself.

Both brothers respected her. Both would die for her or her children without hesitation. Both found her desirable although one had ever fought to keep that hidden even from her. Both liked her very much. But only one of the brothers loved her. And he was not her lord husband.

 _Ned loves me,_ she thought miserably. It did not make anything easier. She had realized well over a year ago that she loved her goodbrother in a most unbrotherly fashion, and recognizing that she had no more power to stop loving him than she had to change their circumstances, she had resolved to hold her guilty secret closely to her heart and not let it hurt anyone save herself.

Then the men of House Cerwyn had come a fortnight ago, and they had brought musicians for a feast. There had been very few ladies available for the dancing, so Catelyn had scarcely been able to sit once the music had started. She’d been spun around the Hall first in one man’s arms and then another’s. Brandon had taken the most turns with her, of course, but he didn’t begrudge his men dancing with her. She always thought he rather enjoyed it when other men found her beautiful. He knew well enough that she belonged only to him, and took satisfaction in reminding the other men of that by the way he held her against him and touched her when he partnered her at dancing.

The dancing went on a long time that night, and more than a few men, Brandon included, had drunk far more than they needed. Catelyn’s feet had hurt, and she’d grown quite tired of being groped and leered at when she’d heard a familiar deep voice behind her say, “I would like to dance with my goodsister now, if you please, Lord Cerwyn.”

Catelyn had looked up in surprise. Ned did not dance. Lord Cerwyn had bowed respectfully, releasing her into Ned’s arms. He’d held her stiffly and awkwardly, but attempted to move her toward the edge of the floor in time with the music.

“You’ve never danced with me before, Ned!” she’d exclaimed. “Not even at my wedding.”

“I do not care for dancing, my lady, as you well know.” He’d actually grinned at her then, a sort of lopsided grin that caused her to wonder if even Ned had been drinking more than his usual. “It appeared to me that even you had grown tired of dancing, and I thought you might be in need of rescuing.”

“Thank you,” she’d breathed. “You are my savior, Ned.” They’d reached the edge of the floor by then. “Will you come outside with me?” she’d asked him. It was hot in the crowded Hall, and she knew he’d appreciate escaping the heat and crowd as much as she would.

Wordlessly, he’d led her to where their cloaks were hung, and then he offered her his arm once more. Together, they stepped out into the dark courtyard with its layer of snow, thinner now that spring was trying to break through, but plenty thick enough still to crunch softly beneath their feet as they walked toward the stables.

“Where are you taking me?” she’d asked him after a moment.

He’d smiled at her. “River Blossom has had her foal,” he’d said, and Catelyn had squealed. She’d been unable to ride her favorite mare for some time as the date of the animal’s foaling drew near, and she’d been anticipating the birth of this foal with excitement nearly as great as she’d had for the birth of her own children.

“Why did no one tell me?” she’d exclaimed.

“The labor started just prior to the feast, my lady. Hullen did not wish to distract Brandon or yourself from your guests. He only came to me once the little filly had been born. Your mare had a fairly easy time of it, I’m pleased to say. Mother and foal are both quite well.”

“A filly?” Catelyn asked him in excitement.

“A beautiful filly, my lady. And by the time she’s ready to be broken and ridden, your little Sansa should be big enough to claim her, although I wouldn’t let her on such a young horse alone. They can grow up a bit together before she does any solo riding.”

“Oh, Sansa would be delighted to have a baby horse of her own! She’ll be perfectly content just to pet her, brush her mane, and give her treats!”

They had reached the stables by then, and Hullen greeted them. “Ah, my lady! I thought Ned might bring you here. Your mare has done quite well. She’s going to make a fine mother.”

“Like her lady,” Ned had whispered almost under his breath.

“Hullen! Have you been here all this time?” Catelyn had exclaimed. “You haven’t gotten to the feast at all?”

“Our River Blossom needed me, my lady. I’ll feast another night.”

“You will do no such thing. Go to the Hall right now. There’s ample food left, and the gods know there is plenty of ale and wine flowing.”

“I’m hardly fit for a feast, my lady,” the master of horse had laughed, indicating his filthy clothing.

“Oh, they’re all so drunk by now, no one will care in the least, even if they still see well enough to notice.”

Ned had laughed at that. “She’s right, Hullen. Go and have yourself a bite and a bit of drink. I’ll stay with Blossom and make sure all’s well with her and her little one.”

“Well, if you insist,” the man had grinned. “I thank you both for it.”

As the man had left the stable, Catelyn had stepped further in toward River Blossom’s stall.

“Careful, Cat!” Ned had cautioned her, taking hold of her arm. “You aren’t exactly dressed for traipsing around the stables, my lady.”

Catelyn had smiled at him. He rarely called her by her name, and she felt guilty at the small thrill she felt whenever he did. She always called him Ned. He refused any honorific titles, protesting that he was not the lord of anything. “I’m not concerned, Ned,” she’d told him. “You won’t let me fall.”

“Never,” he had said, gripping her arm gently but with strength, those grey eyes looking into hers more intently than usual. “Come,” he’d said after a moment. “Let’s have a look at this new little girl.”

The foal was beautiful--chestnut brown with a tiny white star in the center of her forehead, and Catelyn had exclaimed over her enthusiastically. She could already step about in a wobbly fashion on her spindly little legs, and Catelyn had patted her as she gave her mother a small apple Ned had fetched out of the bin for her.

“I’ve never seen anything so beautiful,” she’d said breathlessly, turning around with a smile on her face to look at Ned behind her.

“Neither have I”, he’d said. But he hadn’t been looking at the horses.

“Ned?” she’d whispered, suddenly feeling like she couldn’t breathe.

“You are beautiful, Cat. You are so beautiful and so good. You should be told that every day.”

There was a lantern hanging just outside the stall which bathed them in a soft, dim, glow. She had wondered if the expression on his face was simply a trick of the shadows until he’d stepped closer to her.

“I have no right to say it,” he’d whispered huskily, “But that makes it no less true.”

He had been drinking more than he normally did. He wasn’t staggering drunk like so many others, but she knew such words would never leave his lips if he were entirely sober. And he certainly wouldn’t be looking at her like that. Where the men in the Great Hall had viewed her with anything from casual appreciation to naked lust, Ned Stark was now looking at her with an expression nothing short of reverence. Reverence and desire.

“Ned,” she’d said again, unable to find any words but his name. She’d reached out a hand to touch his face, and he’d made a sound as if in pain. But he hadn’t pulled away.

Then he’d pulled her to him. She’d barely had time to register what was happening before his lips were on hers. He’d tasted of wine and his beard tickled the skin of her face and she’d wanted nothing so much as to melt into him. She’d opened her lips and felt his tongue slide against hers. She’d gripped him to her, fearful that this wasn’t real and terrified that it was. _I cannot_ _do this,_ she’d thought wildly, and yet she could not stop it.

He could, though. He had suddenly pulled away from her as quickly as he’d grabbed her to him, and he stood there shaking and staring at her with a tortured expression. “Forgive me, my lady!” he said desperately. “I should not . . .I cannot . . I . . .forgive me!”

“I cannot,” she’d said, the words leaving her throat on a sob.

He’d looked stricken then, and she’d reached out and taken his hands. “Ned!” she’d said desperately. “I cannot forgive you for doing the very thing I’ve longed for you to do.”

He’d stared wildly at her then, as if he couldn’t make sense of her words.

“I am as guilty as you are, my sweet Ned. I have no right to offer forgiveness for a sin I share.”

Tears had fallen freely down her cheeks then, and he had removed his hands from hers to cup her face in his own hands and wipe at the tears with the balls of his thumbs. “I am sorry, my lady. I am so sorry. I never intended . . .” His voice had trailed off as his sad grey eyes looked into hers.

“I’m sorry, too,” she’d whispered. “I tried not to love you.”

“Oh, Cat,” he’d said, his voice an echo of his own pain. He’d pulled her back into his arms then, but only to hold her while she cried.

When she had stilled, he’d turned her face up to his and softly kissed her forehead. Then he’d taken a strand of her hair and run this fingers over the length of it before letting it fall to her shoulder. She’d ached for the feel of his lips on hers once more, but he did not kiss her again. Instead, he had pulled himself completely away from her once more and walked to the far side of the stall.

“It would seem we have a problem, my lady,” he said finally, shaking his head. “I should not have drunk so much wine. Watching all those men with you . . .and the way my brother flaunts you when you would sooner have him shield you . . .”

“Brandon means me no disrespect,” she’d said, feeling compelled to defend her husband.

“I know that,” Ned had said softly, “But you feel shamed by it none the less.” He’d slammed a fist into the stall rail. “He does not listen!”

“You speak of these things to Brandon?” she’d asked him, horrified.

He’d sighed. “I only told him I thought you felt uncomfortable. I told him he should exercise more reserve in front of the men.”

“And what did Brandon say?”

He’d hesitated, but then he’d met her eyes. “He laughed and told me you were a warm, southron woman who appreciated a real man and didn’t need to be defended by a cold, bloodless man who wouldn’t know what to do with such a woman if he had one.”

“Oh, Ned!” she had started to fling herself at him, but he’d put up his hands.

“Don’t! Don’t touch me, Cat. I cannot bear it. I am neither as cold nor as bloodless as my brother thinks I am, and I know perfectly well what I would like to do with you. Do not tempt me.”

“You kissed me because you were angry at Brandon?” she’d asked, starting to become angry herself.

“No! I drank too damn much because I was angry at Brandon! Then Hullen came and told me about the foal. And I knew you were miserable in there, and I thought I could at least put a smile on your face, and then you were so beautiful and so close and I . . .I kissed you because I wanted to, damn it! Because I’ve wanted to for longer than I can remember.” He’d shaken his head. “I thought you would hit me. I thought you would be shocked and horrified and . . .”

“I didn’t hit you,” she’d interrupted him. “I was shocked, but I was far from horrified, Ned.”

“And so we have a problem,” he said once more.

“It would appear we have had a problem for some time. Only now we share it,” she’d said softly.

“We can’t share anything, Catelyn,” he’d said firmly. “You know that to be true. Robert has been asking me to come to King’s Landing for some time. He says he would welcome Jon as well, although I have my doubts about the treatment the boy would receive at court.”

“You . . .you would leave?”

“I have to leave! Can’t you see that? It was difficult enough before. Now . . .I fear this is impossible.”

She’d hung her head. Every word he spoke was true, but the thought of his leaving was the only thing that hurt more than the thought of being near him without ever again feeling his lips against hers. Before she could reply, however, the sound of men’s laughter sounded from just outside the stables. Then came Brandon’s voice.

“Ned! Ned? Cat? Are you here?”

“In River Blossom’s stall, Brandon!” Ned had called back, his voice amazingly devoid of emotion. Catelyn had turned quickly back to the little foal, running her hands along its spine as it nuzzled against River Blossom in an attempt to calm herself.

“My gods! What a gorgeous little thing!” Brandon had exclaimed as he came into the stall. He had been walking steadily enough, unlike some of the men who’d accompanied him, but his face was flushed. He’d dropped to his knees beside Catelyn and run his hands over all four of the foal’s legs in a practiced manner. “Well made, too.” He’d looked up at Catelyn then with an expression of pure joy on his face. “What do you say, my lady? Shall we give this baby girl to our baby girl? Hullen said Ned had mentioned it, and I think it’s a fine idea!”

She’d laughed at him in spite of her distress. Brandon’s enthusiasm when he was truly happy was always an infectious thing. “Well, my lord. As long as you and your brother realize that our little girl is not quite two yet, and this is one pet she will most certainly need supervised with for a great number of years, I don’t see why not.”

He’d stood then, put his hands on her waist, and whirled her around. She’d known that this particular act was no display on his part, but a pure expression of his exuberant joy in the new foal, and had it not been for the memory of Ned’s hands there only moments before, she would not have minded in the least. As it was, though, she hadn’t wanted Brandon touching her at all, and guilt and sadness had washed over her. She’d looked at Ned and known that he felt the same.

They had all left the stables soon after that, and Brandon had taken her to her chambers, eager to have her after the successful feast and the healthy new foal had put him in such high spirits. She’d given herself to him as willingly as she always did. He was her husband. She’d returned his kisses and allowed him to touch her as he wished, all the while unable to get the feel of Ned’s beard against her cheek and chin out of her head. As Brandon thrust into her, she’d found herself crying, and she’d thanked the gods he didn’t notice. He’d come with a groan, and then collapsed onto her, panting.

After a moment, he’d rolled off her and sat up. “Gods, Cat,” he’d said as he stood up and pulled on his breeches. “You are a beautiful woman.”

He hadn’t touched or kissed her again, but after he had pulled on his shirt, and picked up his doublet, he’d smiled at her before opening the door to leave. “Sometimes I think Ned is right. You are a better wife than I deserve.”

She’d been grateful he’d left without waiting for a reply for she hadn’t any. She had still been able to hear his footsteps in the corridor when the horrible sick guilt washed over her. She’d jumped out of bed and run to vomit in her basin. Then she’d sunk to the floor and cried.

That had been well over a week ago. Ned had avoided her as much as possible in the following days, and successfully managed to never be alone with her. Then the men had left on their hunting trip five days ago, and Catelyn had been left trying to sort out what she felt, and what she could actually do about any of it.

_Ned loves me._

She had no right to be pleased about that. It made everything so much worse. Yet, as miserable as she was, her heart skipped a little every time she thought of it. Those three words brought her both the sharpest pain and the purest joy she’d ever known.

_Ned loves me._

Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on her door. Her maid must have returned, and she wondered if something was amiss with the children.

She hastily looked in the mirror to be certain no evidence of tears remained on her face before turning toward the door. “Come in,” she called.

The door opened, and her heart stopped. Standing in the corridor, staring at her as if frozen in place, was not her maid, but Ned.

“You’re back!” she said stupidly. Of course he was back. He was standing there.

“Forgive me, my lady,” he stammered. “I did not mean to interrupt your . . .bath. I . . .” He turned to go, and she ran forward and grabbed him by the arm.

“No,” she said. “Do not go. I am finished with my bath, Ned. Why are you here? Is Brandon here, too?”

He swallowed, seeming uncertain about the wisdom of coming into her chambers, but as he looked around and realized he was standing in an open doorway with his brother’s wife dressed only in her robe, he apparently decided it was a better option than remaining where he was. He stepped into the room and closed the door behind them.

“Brandon has not returned,” he said. “He asked me to tell you that he received an urgent summons from Barrowton. He has taken some of the men and ridden for Barrow Hall. He will return to Winterfell as soon as he has handled whatever difficulties have arisen there.”

Ned didn’t meet her eyes as he relayed the message. He knew as well as she did that the only difficulty the widowed Lady Dustin likely summoned Brandon about was her lonely bed. It seemed that her lord husband and the former Barbrey Ryswell had a history which extended back before either of their marriages, and she was the only woman of Brandon’s that Catelyn truly resented. She was resigned to her husband not keeping solely to her bed, but Lady Barbrey imagined herself entitled to Catelyn’s place at Winterfell. While Catelyn knew well enough that Brandon was far too honorable to ever put her aside even if he did have some feelings for Lady Dustin, his continuing to bed her only encouraged the woman’s ridiculous aspirations.

“Hopefully, he chose the most discreet of his men,” she said acidly.

“Catelyn . . .” Ned started.

“Don’t tell me I’m wrong, Ned, because I know I’m not.” She sighed. “And don’t tell me I’m being hypocritical because I know that I am.”

“You are not wrong or hypocritical, my lady.” While she had stepped a few paces into the room, he had remained just inside the doorway. He looked at her sadly. “You have done nothing wrong, Cat.”

“Have I not?” she asked him sharply. Then she shook her head. She certainly didn’t want to fight with Ned. “Why did you not go to Barrowton with him?” she asked.

“I had no desire to be there,” he said simply. “And Brandon doesn’t want me there. It seems I make him feel guilty.” he laughed bitterly. “Who’s the hypocrite now?”

“Ned, don’t. Just . . . Don’t.” She swallowed. “Did you have anything else to say to me?”

“Yes. I came to say goodbye.”

“Goodbye?” She hated the note of panic in her voice.

“Yes. I’m leaving for King’s Landing on the morrow.”

“And Brandon’s letting you go?”

He frowned. “He wasn’t happy about it. Accused me of abandoning the family. Told me he’s already given up one brother to the service of the Night’s Watch. He shouldn’t have to give up another to the service of the king.”

“And what did you say to that?” she asked him softly.

“I told him the truth, my lady. Or at least a part of it. I told him there is nothing here for me.”

“Is that truly how you feel?” Catelyn asked him, feeling the tears prick at her eyes once more.

“It is the truth.” He looked directly into her eyes. “It matters little that everything I want is here, when there is nothing here that can ever be mine.”

The tears began spilling over then. “It hurts so much,” she heard herself saying. “I don’t think I can stand to be without you.”

He came and put his arms around her then. He smelled of horses and the outdoors. She looked up at him and saw exhaustion etched on his face. “Ned!” she cried. “You’ve come directly from the stables. You’ve just arrived and you’ve probably had no rest at all!”

“I needed to see you.”

Those words cut into her heart. He’d ridden to Winterfell and come directly to her chambers because he’d needed to see her. Yet tomorrow he would ride out of Winterfell because he couldn’t bear seeing her.

“Sit down. You must be exhausted.” She took his hand and led him to sit on the edge of her bed. The chairs were on the other side of the room. She knew how tired he must be when he simply sank down without protest.

“What about Jon?” she asked suddenly.

“I will take him with me.”

"Leave him here, Ned.”

He looked at her. “Catelyn, I do not intend to return here with any regularity. He is my blood. My responsibility to see to.”

“He is a little boy of just less than five years. He doesn’t know what it means to be a bastard yet, Ned. He loves my son like a brother. Leave him here for awhile. Let him grow older and stronger before he has to face all that the name Snow will mean in the south.”

He stared at her. She had never shown a great deal of interest in his son except as Robb’s playmate so she supposed it was to be expected that he was surprised at her words.

“I will take good care of him Ned." She sat beside him and touched his face. “Let me do this for you,” she whispered. “I would give you what I could, Ned.”

“I cannot ask it.”

“You do not ask. I offer. You need only accept. He will miss you terribly, I know, but I still believe he is better here than in King’s Landing until he is older.”

He nodded. “Thank you, my lady. I will consider it.” He put his own hand on her face then and she watched his grey eyes travel over her entire face as if committing it to memory.

“Must you go?” she asked in a tiny voice, although she knew the answer already.

“You know I must,” he said. “The thought of never seeing you is as painful as a bed of nettles, Cat. But the thought of seeing you every day and never touching you . . .now that I’ve kissed you, I fear I cannot live with you and never touch you again. I must be stronger than that.”

 _A bed of nettles,_ Catelyn thought. She recalled the guilt and shame she’d felt with Brandon in her bed after that kiss. Surely her bed had been as painful as any nettle bed that night. She couldn’t imagine being any guiltier than she already was. She looked at the man in front of her. The man she loved. The man she must give up never to see again except for brief visits likely years apart. The man who would eventually wed another woman who would bear his children. “You can be stronger than that tomorrow,” she said, and she put her arms around him and kissed him.

He returned the kiss, just as she had known he would. The feel and taste of his lips and tongue set her on fire in a way that had nothing to do with the heat of the room. As he ran his hands through her damp hair, they caught the back of her robe, and she felt it slip from her shoulders. She grabbed at one of his hands and put it against her breast.

He gasped, and pulled away from her lips to look down at her now visible breasts. “Gods,” he breathed, bringing his other hand to cup her other breast. She caught her breath as he began to tease her nipples with his thumbs. At the sound, he looked back up at her face, and suddenly pulled his hands away from her.

“We cannot do this,” he said.

“We can,” she said without hesitation. “I love you, Ned.”

He looked as if she’d struck him.

“I love you,” she repeated. “And it doesn’t change anything. You will go tomorrow. We will both be miserable, and we shall both feel guilty and terrible and wrong. Nothing can make that better. But I honestly do not see how anything could make it worse.”

“Cat,” he said, and she put her lips against his rather than allow him to say something honorable and reasonable and altogether unhelpful.

“I must lose you,” she said when they finally broke the kiss. “Without ever truly having you. I would at least have this. And I would give it to you.”

He looked at her a long moment and then nodded.

“Lie back,” she said and got up to latch the door. As she walked away from him, she let the robe fall to the ground. When she turned back to face him, he was lying back on her bed, still fully clothed, including his boots, staring at her nakedness as if mesmerized. She actually laughed, and wondered for a moment if she had gone completely mad.

She came back to the bed and tugged off his boots. It took some effort, and after she tossed the second one onto the floor, she found herself flushed and sat down on the edge of the bed beside him. He pulled her down to him and kissed her. As she kissed him back, she turned to crawl up onto the bed over him so that she was on her hands and knees above him.

She kissed his mouth, his ears, his bearded cheeks, his neck, the top of his chest; and as she kissed him, he first massaged her breasts with his hands and then reached one hand around her hip, fondling her buttock and the back of her thigh before reaching between her legs to stroke her sex. She gasped when his fingers made contact there, grinding her hips shamelessly against his hand. Then she gasped again when his other hand pulled at the back of her head bringing her mouth back from his nipple to his own mouth. She opened her lips against his, and then his tongue was inside her mouth as his fingers were inside her sex. His lips slid against her own as his fingers rubbed against her sensitive little nub. Her body seemed to move of its own accord desperately seeking release from the delicious torture he was putting her though. She had a momentary panic that he’d think her wanton and terrible, and she raised her head slightly to look at his face. He was looking directly at her with an expression so full of desire and amazement that her heart nearly stopped beating. She had never felt anything quite as exquisite, and she came apart with a cry that he silenced with his mouth. She was shaking when she fell down onto him.

She felt his hands running up and down over her spine as she lay there atop him, trying to remember how to breathe. As reason and normal sensation began to return to her, she became aware of Ned’s hard cock pressing up against her sex through his breeches. She rocked herself against him, and he bucked beneath her and clutched at her back.

She started pushing his shirt up. She couldn’t accomplish it quickly enough for him, though. He kissed her hard once more, and then rolled her onto her back before rising up to pull off his shirt. She’d seen him without his shirt before, but now his broad muscled shoulders and the scars on his chest were hers to explore with her fingers and her lips and she sat up to do so. She’d barely begun though, when he pulled himself completely off her. She started to protest, but then realized he had stood up beside her bed to remove his breeches, and she watched him in anticipation.

This part of Ned, she had never seen before, and she found every bit of him beautiful. His thighs, like his shoulders were more thickly muscled than Brandon’s, although his legs were not as long. His cock stood up straight and hard, and the sight of it sent another jolt of desire through her. She had seen Brandon aroused many times, of course, but this was her Ned. This was her love, and he wanted her as much as she wanted him. She reached up to touch him, but he pushed her gently back down on the bed again.

She expected him to lay himself over her then, and take his own pleasure. Instead, he knelt between her legs, and bent his head toward her sex.

“You don’t have to do that,” she panted. Brandon had used his mouth on her on occasion. He knew it felt good to her, although he never seemed to enjoy it nearly as much as he enjoyed having her take him in her mouth. He would do it to help her be ready, though, so it wouldn’t hurt her when he pushed inside her. “I’m ready, Ned. You don’t need to . . .”

“I want to,” he said, his voice a low growl. “Lie back, Cat. It’s all right.” Then his mouth was on her, and she twitched beneath him. He put his hands on her hips to hold her in place and proceeded to explore every sensitive bit of flesh between her legs with his lips and tongue. At first, she kept expecting him to stop, and then she began praying that he wouldn’t. She was panting, and she realized that every exhaled breath was his name. When she shattered for him a second time, she turned her face into the pillow to keep from crying out his name for the entire castle to hear.

When she opened her eyes again, he was looking down at her, the expression on his face so tender, she started to cry. Immediately, he looked distressed.

“Cat! What is it? I’m sorry, my love. What have I done?”

She bit her lip and shook her head. “I love you,” she said. “I have never been loved like this.”

He smiled at her. “You are so beautiful. I have wanted to love you for so long. I never . . .” He swallowed. “We needn’t do anything more, Cat.”

That distressed her. “Don’t you want me?”

“More than anything. But if you don’t feel we should . . .go any further . . .I can stop, my lady.”

“I don’t want you to stop!” she cried, and grabbed him down toward her. His cock was still hard. She could feel it against her belly. She reached down and took him in her hand, reveling in the feel of him. He gasped as she stroked him and she reveled in that, too. She wanted to make him feel as he had made her feel. She could see that he was very close, and she wanted him inside her. She angled her hips upward and guided the tip of his cock to her slick entrance. He gasped again, and then pushed himself deep inside her. He went still then for a moment, looking into her eyes even as they were joined together, still seeking her blessing.

She nodded to him and reached to put her hands on his back. That was all the encouragement he needed, and he began thrusting inside her, each stroke filled with the longing and desperation of years gone by and years ahead that would not belong to them. When he finally found his release, she came once more with him, and for that one moment, Catelyn believed they actually belonged to each other.

They lay tangled together afterward only long enough to catch their breath and to realize the enormity of what they’d done. Then Ned rose and quickly dressed before bringing her robe to her.

He watched her put it on and then finally spoke. “Are you sorry, my lady?”

“I am sorry you must go. I am sorry that we will never live as I know we would choose. I am sorry that I will never be the wife my lord husband believes me to be.”

“Cat . .” he said at that. “I am sorry . . .”

“Don’t be,” she said. “Those are the things I am sorry for, Ned. But I will never be sorry that this once, I loved you as I wished. Don’t you be sorry for it, either.”

He nodded. “I will never be sorry for loving you, Catelyn. Only for causing you pain.”

She wanted to tell him he had caused her no pain, but that wasn’t true. They had both caused each other pain. They hadn’t meant to, but they had. Instead, she gave him what comfort she could.

“I will take care of Jon if you wish to leave him here. He will be happy, Ned.”

He nodded once more. “I thank you for that, my lady.”

“I cannot ever truly be your lady,” she said sadly. “But for one moment, I was your love. That will have to be enough, Ned. Forever.”

“Forever,” he said, and then he kissed her one last time.

She knew she wouldn’t see him again before he left, and she didn’t. Jon Snow cried long and hard when he realized his father was truly gone, so Catelyn let him sleep in her bed for two nights until he seemed to accept Ned’s absence better. Then she allowed him to move into Robb’s room. The two boys spent nearly every moment together anyway, and it made it easier on her now that she had to put both of them to bed.

Brandon returned home after another fortnight, and became furious at the news Ned had departed without waiting for his return. He remained angry for about a week, shouting every time he came upon something that Ned had always done that he now had to take care of himself or assign to someone else, but eventually he settled down. He loved Ned too much to stay angry at him long.

When he came to Catelyn’s chambers his first night back, she had been terrified that somehow he would know she had betrayed him. Yet, he had seemed no different than he ever was. She prayed every day to the old gods and the new that they would make her a dutiful wife, and that she would bring honor and joy to her lord husband. She also prayed that Ned would find joy of his own. Finally, she prayed that she and Ned would never completely lose the joy of their one moment.

She waited until she’d missed two moonbloods to tell Brandon she was with child again. He was overjoyed, of course, and immediately convinced it would be a boy. While she knew that Maester Luwin would say that the conception of a child could only be judged to a window of a few weeks, she believed she knew precisely when this child was conceived, and she prayed that she could keep that secret safely within her heart. She prayed to the old gods and the new that her child would not be punished for her own sins, but even then, she could not claim to be truly repentant. She loved Ned. She would love their child. And she would allow no harm to come to it.

A letter from Ned took Brandon away in the sixth moon of her pregnancy. Balon Greyjoy had declared himself a king, independent of the Iron Throne, and Robert Baratheon had called them to fight. She prayed then for her husband and for the man she loved, imploring the old gods and the new to bring them both through the conflict safely. She prayed that they were together, for the one thing she was certain of was that neither Brandon nor Ned would allow harm to come to the other if they could prevent it.

The letter from Brandon telling her of the defeat of Balon Greyjoy and his own imminent return to Winterfell came only hours before her labor pains started. Enclosed had been a brief missive from Ned. He had written numerous letters for Jon which she always read to him, but there had never been one for her before.

_My lady,_

_Brandon has told me you are with child. I hope you are well, and that your child arrives safely. I shall not be able to visit Winterfell before returning to King’s Landing, I am afraid, as Robert wishes me to attend a tournament in honor of his victory. Please tell Jon I shall endeavor to come to Winterfell and see him as soon as summer truly arrives. I shall look forward to seeing Robb, Sansa, and your new babe as well. Until then, know that you and the babe are in my prayers. Forever._

_Ned_

Less than a day after she read those words, after hours of sweat and blood and pain, Maester Luwin placed her newborn daughter in her arms. As she looked into Arya’s grey eyes, she knew she had been right. Others would look at those eyes and see simply a Stark.

Catelyn saw something more. Catelyn looked into her daughter’s eyes, so precisely like her father’s and saw one moment. Forever.


End file.
